Regularly, the folks at Freedom City PbP held a board-wide event. Everyone who wished to participate had to write a singular post along a specific theme; they called these vignettes. While Pompadour was active, there was only one vignette. The theme was that supervillain The Maestro was using his power of song to get everyone in Freedom City to sing out "something truthful." At the same time, he took steps to spy on various heroes, hoping someone's song of truth would reveal a weakness he could exploit.

Here is Pompadour's entry.

IC: Superhero Like You

Pompadour was behind the wheel of his street rod, headed to The Ink Tank to see his friend Trevor. Suddenly a low-pitched woman's voice moaned out "Oh, I need you soooo bad!" Thoroughly startled, he pulled over to the curb to investigate; the unknown woman continued to express her (presumably carnal) needs. Ah. Cell phone. Generally, his cell made a very subtle tone, but he had programmed an emergency override code for when authorized people needed to get ahold of him. The porn-sounds signified his agent absolutely, positively needed to speak with him instantly. Pompadour decided on the spot that he absolutely, positively needed to change the ring-tone... it seemed funny when he set it, but now that it had been used, oh so inappropriate.

"Talk to me Mandy. What's the crisis?""I don't know! I don't know! Your presence has been requested at Freedom Hall.""Oh my God!""I know!""Why?""I don't know!""I'm going!"After hanging up his cell, Pompadour quickly dialed his friend Tank, to let him know about the change of plans."Hey man, I need to cancel on you. Sorry about the last minute thing, but someone wants to talk to me at Freedom Hall.""Oh my God!""I know!""Why?""I don't know!""You gotta go!"Pompadour put his wheels into gear, and went to see why The Freedom League wanted him.

At Freedom Hall, Pompadour did his best to walk with confidence. He had been working on writing some of his own music, lately, and he found that some of the songs he had written were running through his head, and he suppressed an urge to start singing them. Stupid nerves... this is Freedom Hall. Save that for the shower, man... The pleasant looking woman manning the reception desk had a name placard that indicated that her name was Cynthia. "Hello miss. My name is Pompadour, I believe someone is expecting me?"

The voice came from behind Pompadour. A voice he recognized. "Yes, Pompadour. Thank you for getting here so quickly." Sheer force of will kept Pomp from dropping to his knees and babbling for mercy. He turned to face Captain Thunder, who reached out to shake his hand, and then gestured for Pompadour to follow him. He did so, doing his best to steady his nerves. He found that he was humming the chorus line for the song he was writing, and dug his fingers into his palm to make himself stop. Captain Thunder lead him to a small meeting room, still on the main floor. He gestured for Pompadour to have a seat, and settled into a chair himself.

"Alright, Pompadour. The reason I wanted to see you, was just to do some personal followup on the incident back on the Memorial Day long weekend. Multiple reports indicated that you claimed that the man that attacked that nightclub was me. Although, beyond making that statement to the police who arrived on the scene, you didn't make any public statements. Can you tell me more about this?""Uh, yes, Captain. The man who attacked the club did look like you, and he said his name was Ray Gardner. He also said his name was Donar, though. I said what I said for the official record, because that's what I saw. I didn't go blabbing it around, because I figured I'd look like a fool... and no one, including me, thinks you run around attacking night clubs.""Now that you're sitting face to face with me, do you still think that the man at Da Bomb looks like me?"Pompadour searched his memories for images of the lightning-lit club, comparing an image of the self-proclaimed Thunder God to the face of Captain Thunder. They were identical. "Yes. Not having seen you in person before, I suppose I wasn't 100% sure. But now that I'm here, I'm sure."

Pompadour realized he was tapping his foot against the chair-leg, along to a rhythm in his head, and Captain Thunder was looking at him quizzically... wait, was Captain Thunder tapping the table along to the same rhythm? Did I just see that? Pompadour stilled his tapping by crushing his foot to the floor ruthlessly."Given your former career as a Super Criminal, there was some muttering among my colleagues that this was some sort of elaborate scheme to discredit the Freedom League. Of course the other strange attacks over the weekend seems to suggest some extra-dimensional power was at work. I just thought I should do you the courtesy of interviewing you before we closed our file on this. Actually, I've heard that you're making strides pursuing a career as a hero and I'm glad to hear it. Did you have anything else you wanted to share with me, or The League?"

To his horror, Pompadour found himself propelled out of his chair, with his voice raised in song:

You've got great Powers,Well, I think mine are just okay.I used to be a Genius too,But next to you, I'm just a Mook.I really Love your costume, yeah,Maybe I should get one, too,'Cuz that's what Heroes do, I betcha.

So what do you do?Oh yeah, I fight criminals too.I'm not on a Super Squad,But you know I'm pretty new.I've got a gig as a Super Dude,If I put myself on the Map,I can be a Hero that the People will really Love.

Cause I like you,Yeah, I like you,And I want to be a Superhero like you,Yeah, I like you,Yeah, I like you,And I feel in my Heart; Whooo!Whoo-hoo hoo-ooooh!

So,Until then,I'm really just a fraud.And I'm feeling kinda blah,Yeah, I want it really bad.It's not just what you do, it's what you are.But the real truth is, I'm really afraid of getting smacked down.

Cause I like you,Yeah, I like you,And I want to be a Superhero like you,Yeah, I like you,Yeah, I like you,And I feel in my Heart; Whooo!Whoo-hoo hoo-ooooh!

I'm getting brave,And I'm feeling super heroic like you,It's just that I've been afraid,'Cuz Supervillainy is a Scary Thing.It isn't? It is for me.And I like you,Yeah, I like you,'Cause I want to be a Superhero like you,Yeah, I like you,Yeah, I like you,And I feel in my Heart; Whooo!Whoo-hoo hoo-ooooh!

Captain Thunder looked... surprised, but applauded politely as he also got to his feet. He opened his mouth to say something, but a look of horror washed over his face, as he realized he was not in control of the words coming out of his mouth!

Pompadour parked his suped up PT Cruiser across the street from The Ink Tank, grabbed the big bag of take-out from the passenger seat, and headed inside. He had stopped by without an appointment, or calling first and Tank was still with a client. His front-end girl, improbably named Buick invited him to hang around until Tank was free. He considered the woman's blocky, anvil-like physique and the gems and metal embedded in her teeth, lips and tongue and decided that perhaps Buick wasn't such an improbable a name after all. Buick worked reception, ordered supplies and apprenticed as an artist when possible. An established tattoo artist named Mickey-Z rented a chair from Tank... Pomp wasn't sure if the wraith-like, emo Mickey-Z was a boy or a girl... in any case, he had picked up lunch for four people; a tasty Vietnamese soup called Pho and green onion cakes. He passed styrofoam containers and paper bags out to Buick and Mickey-Z, and waited for Tank to be finished. He browsed the portfolio books and considered getting more ink done once his sleeve was finished.

Once Tank was finished with his client, he and Pompadour took their lunch out on a bench behind the building to eat and talk."Got an interview with the magazine people tomorrow night... and my agent's got me going out to New York to be on Tyra next week.""That's kind of what you wanted, isn't it? Get yourself famous, live the high life?""I thought it was. Things seem to be moving awfully fast. She wants me to be a super hero, did I tell you?"Trevor shook his head, his mouth full of green onion cake. "I hadn't heard. Does this have anything to do with what happened at the club the other night?""Actually... no. That was just a coincidence. I mean... I wouldn't put it past Mandy to stage something, but that Donar guy had some serious power, and I doubt that she could or would have arranged for something of that magnitude." Pompadour scooped up some noodles and mystery meat and chewed for a few minutes. "I guess I don't mind the idea of being a hero. But I still don't have a really good idea of what I can do. When I was doing the evil thing I acted on instinct. I don't have those instincts anymore.""Albright Institute, man." Pompadour arced an eyebrow at his friend. "They study metahuman, or super powers. They're always looking for people with special abilities to test what they can do and how they can do it. They have a special gym that can measure and test your powers.""That sounds promising... but there's got to be a long waiting list for something like that. It's probably pretty exclusive?"Tank shook his head, chewing again. "They get a lot of applicants, but their screening test is extremely fast and simple. You go in, they ask you if you have super powers, and if you can't demonstrate that you do, your name doesn't go on the list.""Hmm."

They ate their food in silence for a while. Finally Trevor "Tank" Hancock tipped his foam bowl back, drinking the last of the soup broth. He nibbled his green onion cake, while giving Pompadour a very long, very appraising look."Frankly Pomp, I'm not sure if you're asking the right question here.""What's the right question, Trev?""Should you be a superhero.""That is a good question. What do you think?""Nice dodge. Well, lemme start you off. You got to think about the ethical and moral angles. Yeah, you can stop someone from robbing a store, but what if you hurt them doing it? What's worse... their theft or your assault?""Ye-ah..." Pompadour considered this. "I think I'm ok with that. I mean... if you don't want to get hurt while robbing a store, you shouldn't rob the store. That same robber is probably not going to hold back on trying to hurt me if he can... but that leads me to some questions I'm a lot less comfortable with. Like, one of the girls in group therapy can't hold a job because of her depression. She hooks to make rent. So... is she committing a crime or just surviving?""Don't stop there, man. Maybe you go after pimps instead... But it would be hard to put them in jail without their girls' testimony and what happens to those girls when the pimp gets out of jail? Street Crime is depressing... and it's an ethical quagmire that will suck you in and not spit you back out." Tank popped the last bit of his green onion cake into his mouth, stood up and brushed off his pants. "I'm not saying you can't be a hero, or that you can't do some good with your powers. What I am saying is that you need to think about action and consequence... but don't let that bog you down too much. You are a good person. Listen to your heart, and you will be just fine. I got another client in ten... but it was good talking to you man. Thanks for lunch."Pompadour also stood up, and gave his friend a big, rough hug. "No, it's good talking to you. Even if you did warp my brain. Bastard."

After sharing lunch and talking with Tank, Pompadour found himself back in his condo, worrying about packing. Finally, he shrugged and forgot about it. I don't have any personal stuff I need, I don't really have any clothes, and I'm going to New York. All I really need is an empty suitcase, and I can get that when I get there. His agent had suggested that he bring his bass along, so he grabbed the case out of the bedroom where he had left if a few days before. He had agreed to pick Mandy up at 6:30pm for an 8 o'clock flight.

Since he had a few hours to kill, Pompadour made up a list of things he needed, predominantly basic toiletries and headed out shopping. It was perhaps fortunate that he was just killing time. Pompadour found shopping to be surprisingly time consuming. He found that the sales clerks, especially the lady ones... just did not want to let him go. They always had just one more thing they wanted to show him. He managed to procure the few things he really needed, while eating up a surprising amount of time. When he finally drove out to Mandy's Riverside townhouse, he was racing against the clock. They got to Jameson Airport and checked in before 7:00 pm. In one of the airport's finer eateries they discussed their itinerary.

Tomorrow, he would interview with a writer for Us magazine's "Superheroes: Just Like Us" column. Thursday, he would return for follow-up questions and a photo shoot. On Friday, Mandy had arranged for him to meet with a representative from Geffen. Saturday afternoon he was scheduled to attend an art show at the Guggenheim and Saturday evening he was 'on the list' for a hot new club. Sunday, there would hopefully be time for shopping... and finally, Monday... the Tyra Show... Live.

"Sounds like a busy week," Pompadour told his agent. She nodded. They finished their after dinner drinks in amiable solitude, and then headed for the VIP boarding lounge.

The flight to New York was quite enjoyable. Mandy had booked them into First Class seats which were deep and comfortable. A somewhat continuous stream of flight attendants offered every conceivable comfort. The flight was also too short for Pompadour to get over the novelty of flying first class and become bored or irritable. During the flight, Mandy produced the questionnaire he had filled out a few days before, and went through some of his answers with him. She made suggestions for phrasing, things to emphasize, and topics to steer clear of. She also cautioned him that while she was supposed to have final editorial of the magazine piece, if he told them anything truly juicy or inflammatory, they might well run the piece how they wanted and risk the legal consequences.

With assorted delays, Pompadour and Mandy didn't clear the airport and get to their hotel until 10:30pm. Pompadour waved off the bell-hop. His only luggage was his stand-up bass, and he carried Mandy's few bags with tendrils of hair. He had yet to try to pick up something with his hair that didn't seem weightless, and contemplated how much he could actually lift. For that matter, he had come to realize that he had incredible strength in his arms as well. Well he'd learn more about that soon enough; he'd booked an appointment with the Albright Institute for the following Monday. Pompadour received several odd looks. Mandy checked them in, adjoining suites apparently. The upscale hotel had an elevator attendant who seemed scandalized to see Pompadour carrying his luggage... whether because he wasn't attended by a bell hop, or because he was using his hair to do it wasn't clear.

Pompadour set his instrument case down in his room, then went through the adjoining room to bring Mandy her luggage. They chatted, briefly, but she seemed concerned about something. Finally, Mandy said "A long time ago, I told you that willpower and professionalism was keeping me from pouncing on you. That still goes. But... tonight, traveling with you, having other people -other women look at me with you. I could see them wondering what I had that you wanted, and that felt pretty damn good. And you... paying attention to me, taking my bags like a gentleman..." Mandy gave him a searching look, perhaps debating what she would say next. "And so, my lovely, yummy Pompadour... I'm not made of steel. Tonight, lock your door... and don't let me in."

Oh, awkward... Pompadour blinked. "Oh. Yeah, sure thing, boss." As he turned back to his own room, he did not see his agent's manicured nails digging furrows into her skirt.

The night passed uneventfully. Perhaps admitting her fear that she might want nocturnal company was enough to strengthen Mandy's resolve. Pompadour, conscious of his utter lack of luggage slipped out early and visited the boutique in the hotel. He picked out a new outfit, as well as a few assorted extras. He breakfasted on bagels, cream cheese and coffee in a bistro across the street from the hotel, and then returned to his room to shower and change. Perhaps feeling a bit awkward, Mandy did not attempt to track him down until nearer the time of his interview. Neither of them mentioned last night's admission.

A car was summoned to take them to the offices of Us Magazine. On the way to the interview, Mandy reminded Pomp of some of the key points she had discussed with him on the flight. The rest of the afternoon proved grueling. A perky young woman trapped him in an office that was either too damn hot, or too damn cold and asked him increasingly repetitive questions. Then, after a short break for a snack, the whole thing started all over again. Pompadour did his level headed best to remain pleasant and jovial with the woman the entire time. For reasons he was unable to determine, she seemed unaffected by his hawtness powers. Despite this unexpected setback, he thought the interviews went rather well.

Wednesday night was spent quietly bumming around the hotel. After a quiet dinner, Mandy excused herself to her room. Pompadour browsed the boutique in the hotel again, and picked out a few more articles of clothing. Then he spent a few hours in front of the television. Every once in a while, he could hear Mandy in her suite. Before turning in himself, he tapped on the adjoining door and said good-night through it... and heard a murmer in reply.

Thursday morning saw Pompadour and Mandy back in the offices of Us Magazine. An editor sat down with them to go through the rough draft and make some notes. Mandy was assured she would have access to the final draft for editorial approval by Friday afternoon. Then Pompadour got to spend three hours posing for photographs.

That night, he decided to see the sights. His agent pled fatigue, and declined to come with him. He went down to the car by himself. "I'm a tourist. show me all the sights," he told the driver. The man nodded, and pulled into the New York traffic. The smoothly moving towncar passed through Time Square. Pompadour gawked at the enormous electronic signs and the bustling people. He decided not to get out and wander around, though. He had a vague notion that the Square was supposed to be seedy, but it didn't seem that way. The car went on to the waterfront, and Pompadour got out to take a look at America's Grandest Old Girl. My ancestors beat you here, but I dig what you do, baby. A street vendor hawking souvenirs caught Pompadours eye, and he left $20 poorer, but with a plastic replica of the statue, except wearing Lady Liberty's red, white and blue costume.

The car had one final stop to make. As the car approached Ground Zero, Pompadour felt, or imagined that the city seemed to grow quieter or somber. Almost 8 years later, the Wound in the Heart of the Big Apple... in the heart of the country still hurt. Pompadour got out of the car, and walked at a slow pace to the monument. He looked around, and let his mind wander. This is the truth of evil. Over 2000 dead for no reason but Hate... and this is where ordinary men and women proved Heroes beyond the Centurion. So easy to be a hero when you're indestructible. To run into a burning, collapsing office tower when you're not... you're not indestructible Pomp... do you have what it takes to be a Hero? He was just a teenager when it happened, but he still remembered the day. He wiped some moisture from his eyes, and returned to the car.

Friday morning, Pompadour and his agent set out again. This time, Pompadour brought his massive, stand-up bass along, as their destination was Geffen Records. The next few hours at the record company went by at a blur. For the most part, Pompadour played the part of a Trained Monkey, while Mandy talked business. Secretaries -ruthless guardians of portals to people of increasing prominence were disarmed and dispatched by Mandy with talk of appointments and other words of power. Later, in a small acoustically sound chamber, Pompadour played and sang for a grim-faced Suit who sat in Judgement. Later his agent dueled the man, for the highest stakes of all: Money, Percentages, Artistic Control... Pompadour felt wiped out from performing, but watching The Ruthless One, Amanda Karlson tear a hapless recording exec apart left him feeling numb.

"So, what was it that you arranged back there?" He asked, on the way back to the hotel in the slick, black towncar."Development contract. I signed you to a sub-label's sub-label. They like your looks, and don't mind your sound. Most of what we arranged is speculative. Your talent as a musician and a singer needs to improve to match your potential as a front-man. They offered us a lump sum for first dibs on anything you put out. If you put out a record within the next 18 months, they will also provide a production budget, advertising budget, and promote a first single.""So... is that good? Did you... we... get what you wanted?"Mandy looked utterly smug. "Oh yes. I basically stopped short of having him gift-wrap his cojones for me."

That afternoon, Mandy insisted on taking Pompadour out shopping. Primarily for clothes, but she also dragged him to a few upscale jewelry stores. Supper time saw Pompadour carrying an assortment of bags, not to mention new luggage. A heavy steel Breitling chronograph with a carbon-fiber face adorned his left wrist. They sat down to eat at Zoe on Prince St. Most of the conversation was idle chatter, although Pompadour did complain of being talked into spending so much money that was from a line of credit. But then, Mandy told him what his recording contract was worth, and that made it seem more reasonable.

Friday night, Pompadour decided to visit a nightclub; the doorman at their hotel suggested The Guesthouse. Ten o'clock found him wading a sea of beautiful people, drinking over-priced light beer, and having... a pretty reasonable time. The New York 'talent' was a little more blase, but he did draw a fair amount of notice. When he was roaming the club, the women would drag him onto the dance floor. When he was sitting down, they would press themselves into his lap. One dark-haired stunner seemed more determined than most to get his attention. He couldn't hit the dance floor without her making an appearance, or sit down to rest without her tracking him down. Unsurprisingly, when he headed for the exit, she was there to join him, arm-in-arm. The rest of the night passed somewhat more eventfully.

He woke up alone on Saturday morning. Last night seemed pretty surreal. He was more or less sober for the whole evening but it had been an entirely new experience for him. He would be wondering if it had actually happened, if he hadn't found a pair of panties with a name and number monogrammed into the waist-band. He chose to order breakfast to his room, to consider the events of the previous evening. He wondered if perhaps he was supposed to feel different... but he didn't really. Later that day, he was supposed to attend an Art show at the Guggenheim. His thoughts continued to be preoccupied with the previous night. He drifted through the gallery, without seeing much of the works of Art. He practiced the two techniques his agent taught him -look for the artist tag, to make sure it's actually Art and then scan the work until you spy the signature. With this simple technique, he managed to look like he was actually interested in the show.

Saturday night, he was slated to attend the opening of a new club. He found himself feeling antsy, and unsure about another foray into the wilds of the Big City Nightlife. Finally, he managed to psych himself up enough to attend the opening. Pompadour found the events somewhat more nerve-wracking that he had expected. First, some Press was on hand to cover the opening. He was photographed being admitted beyond the velvet rope. A few Media Mavens with better access actually managed to corner him, and ask him questions inside the club. One, a 40-something blonde asked him about his 'Sinister Intentions' with a look of terror in her eyes. She knew who he had been, although perhaps not who he was now. As the evening progressed, he found that not one or two, but three women were becoming increasingly competitive for his attentions. Uncomfortable, he tried to evade them, but to little avail. The girls presented a united front, and tracked him down wherever he went to avoid them. Finally he told them that he wouldn't be able to choose between them. He was more than a little disturbed when they told him that he didn't have to.

The wee hours saw Pompadour faced with a writhing hydra of feminine lust on his bed. Partially disrobed, petting each other, eying him with evident hunger. Pompadour regarded the women. Six eyes leered back at him. Then... he sent them home. A call down to the desk arranged cabs, and some firm words evicted the women from his suite.

There were no events scheduled for Sunday, and Pompadour spent the entirety of the day in his room.

"Our next guest wanted to be on America's Next Top Model so badly, he hijacked the whole show... I mean he literally stole the whole show. Come on out here, Pompadour."

There was a smattering of boos mixed in with the applause that greeted Pompadour as he walked on stage at the Tyra Banks show. The hostess herself took a step back and raised her hands like claws and made a cat hiss at him -although the gesture was clearly mocking. Pompadour himself recoiled in mock-horror, cowering briefly behind a raised arm. After their brief charade, guest and host hugged briefly before settling onto her cream coloured crescent couch. One lone audience member continued to boo, but Tyra shushed him fiercely.

"So, Pomp... I understand that you really don't remember anything about your life as The Sinister Pompadour.""Basically. It's all hazy, sort of like if how you might remember a movie you watched while you were high. If you can imagine that.""I wouldn't know anything about that." " Sort of like a dream, maybe? But really, there's no point in asking you about what was going on in your head back then, or why you did what you did.""That's pretty much true, I don't have a lot of insight. From what I understand it came down to paranoid ravings. One day I was going off about unrealistic expectations the fashion industry puts on people to be beautiful, the next day I was in a rage because that make over show didn't make me pretty enough." Pompadour offers an elegant shrug."Not pretty enough? Boy, you fine!" Ms. Banks made a dismissive gesture. "Alright, so tell me about now. What's life like, post-supervillain?""Right now, everything is pretty up in the air. In a lot of ways, I was completely reborn when The Raven injected me with that serum. It's not just memories of being a villain that are hazy, a lot of my life before then is hard to remember, and a lot of the things I'm into have changed. I mean, I only bother using the name Pompadour now, although I have a civie name... but it doesn't mean anything to me, y'know?""I feel you. It's really odd for me to be saying this... especially when we get back to that supervillain that took my show hostage thing... but I can see that it's been hard for you, and I hope things work out OK for you... now, since you wanted to be on America's Next Top Model so bad, we cooked up a special little something for you." Tyra gestures toward the monitor "take a look."

A montage of Tyra's cohorts from ANTM set to Right Said Fred's "I'm too Sexy" plays. Mr. Jay walks Pompadour through a photo shoot, Miss Jay spends some time teaching him to walk in heals, Benny Ninja teaches him the fine art of the extreme vogue. The montage is interspersed with images of Pompadour in glamour poses with various former contestants on the show.

"Ooooh, you go girl! You're a natural, Pompadour!""I had a blast, and the Jays were great, and Benny Ninja... all the girls. That was an awesome experience... and now, I have something for you." As Pompadour stood up, Tyra's expression became just a tiny bit nervous. His hair seemed to expand, and uncoil, and eventually he unfurled a giant cheque, made out to the Tyra Banks Foundation for $50,000. The two of them stood, holding the cheque, and swapping kisses on the cheek as the show cut to commercial.

Trevor "Tank" Hancock pushed a button on the remote. They were sitting in Pompadour's living room, watching the show via the miracle of Tivo on his big screen. "How exactly did you do that man?""Do what, Trev?""That novelty cheque. It's... 3 feet tall, almost six long... where were you keeping it?""Uh, you know... just... in my hair? I dunno. It fit."Trevor frowned, eying Pompadour's head thoughtfully.

Without a job or school to get him up in the morning, Pompadour found it was easy to lose track of time. He would find himself lounging around in his silk pajamas, sipping coffee and then realize it was practically supper time. Treating his music career as a job helped a lot. He set himself a practice schedule, and an alarm to get himself up in the morning and a clock to punch when it came to writing and practicing his bass.

Mandy called often, with things she wanted him to get involved in. First, she had arranged for him to work out and learn combat skills from a super tough martial artist, and his first lesson was on Wednesday. She also arranged for him to get into the Ace Danger Home-Coming Party. He also made arrangements to see his friend Trevor at least once a week... although his tattoo was virtually finished, 'Tank' was a perfectionist and was more than happy to touch up tiny bits of it that seemed fine to a less trained eye. Pompadour contemplated getting more work done, but didn't want to become an ink addict.

He was starting to get into a nice routine, regularly interrupted by something interesting to see or do. Life... was good.

Not too much to say about this. Pompadour had previously made an appointment to have his power-levels measured at Albright Institute. The GM, running an institute scientist as an NPC offered Pompadour a series of danger-room style challenges. Having a good assessment of his abilities and powers gave me more free-rein to run Pompadour like he knew what he was doing; or at least capable of doing.

At Freedom City PbP, getting a character approved is only half of the process of starting to play there. The other half, is getting into game threads, which can be a lot tougher. One of my fellow players had recently gotten a character approved, but didn't have any threads lined up.

The created character was "Little Miss Thunder Standing," a mixed martial artist who's powers activated after a horrific accident. The character's Power was the ability to Adapt to Survive Anything. Her power would only activate in near-death circumstances, but the powers it adapts are permanent until changed. At this current time, the character was a super strong, super tough, regenerater. She was also banned from MMA on account of her super powers, and lacking direction.

This is when Super Agent, Mandy Karlson springs into action.

Interlude: The Delicate Art of Thunder

Independent of her super-hero client, Mandy tracked down the former MMA fighter. She had two suggestions to pitch; the first that someone of Thunder Standing's skills and powers could really make a name for herself as the premier trainer of superhuman fighters. The second, is that if Thunder wanted to make any sort of name for herself, she ought to have an agent too.

"My client is Brett Mason, more commonly known as Pompadour. He's an up and coming musician and super hero. I think that he really needs some training in unarmed combat. But, Pompadour can pick up a car... I can't send him to Temple Kung Fu or something like that. I mean, it's not my area of expertise either, but I would assume that a normal human, even an expert martial artist, could be seriously hurt trying to train a superhuman fighter." Mandy's eyes sparkle as she continues. "My client is probably not the only superhuman that needs the kind of training that you can provide. That puts you in a very interesting, unique, and potentially lucrative position... and I would be delighted to help you explore it."

Very quickly, Mandy arranged a contract with Claremont Academy for Thunder Standing. They had a student who was a "fast brick" and the soul survivor of a (hopefully) Alternate Future Zombie Apocalypse. Because of her incredible Strength, Speed, and tendency to use lethal force, "Wander" needed to train with someone who could survive some serious training mishaps.

Pompadour himself only ever made one appointment. Thunder Standing assessed him as someone with a lot of natural talent, but no formal skills. They talked about training regiment, and lessons, but Pompadour was reluctant to commit to a scheduling lessons.

Some people received invitations. Others heard about it through word of mouth. Regardless, anyone who wore a cape, used to wear a cape, and even a select few who aspired to wear a cape in the future were invited. Captain (retired) Ace Danger, Immortal Adventurer, Scion of Freedom City Old Money, Hero of two World Wars, etc, etc. was throwing a party for Super Heroes. Pompadour, primarily through the efforts of his agent, had an actual hard-copy invitation.

Pompadour arrived fashionably late in a Volkswagon Beetle Limousine. Instead of his usual costume, he was wearing something dressier; grey pinstripe slacks, a bronze coloured crushed-velvet Valentino coat and a matching domino mask. For a while, Pompadour sipped champagne and mingled. However, as the people he was being introduced to were becoming progressively Big League and the topics being discussed were getting more problematic (fighting crime in low socio-economic regions; is the criminal the victim?), Pomp started getting claustrophobic. He excused himself to the buffet.

A contingent of Claremont students was also at the party. Heading to the buffet, Pompadour happened to pass some of them; and what he happened to overhear stopped him cold. From the snippet he overheard, it sounded like the beauty-enhanced, emotion manipulating "Student Body" was trying to manipulate her boyfriend, the thuggish Battlecry into fighting a 3rd Teen (a player character, the Gobsmacking Gecko, a Blue-Beetle like hero). Having had a Highschool experience that was worst than most, this behaviour appalled Pompadour. He paused to lecture the duo. Student Body took exception to the interference and used her Emotion Control powers, and Pompadour Countered with his Pheromones. Both powers affect an area, but Student Body's is subtle while Pompadour's was not. At the same time, as this contest of powers was underway, Battlecry used his powers on Geckoman to cause him to hallucinate.

Because of his Complication of being a former supervillain, Pompadour was blamed for The Gecko's hallucinations, and quickly found himself sitting down face-to-face with the Headmaster of Claremont school, Duncan Summers in a private room. The gist of that conversation was that Duncan wanted Pompadour to apologize for attacking his students (and the room at large) to all assembled. Pompadour countered that Duncan needed to rein in his charges who were attacking people with their powers. The conversation never really resolved anything, Pompadour eventually walked out, and exited a handy nearby window.

OOC

There was a lot going on behind the scenes of this game thread, making it one of the more problematic adventures I'm aware of. Most of concern to me was the OOC surrounding Pompadour, the GM who was running the adventure was the same player from The Chain and the Lightning that I had some friction with. I felt that the GM was making a lot of rulings that were very much against me, and was frankly abusing his authority as GM in an egregious fashion, eventually issuing me an ultimatum "make your character do what I want, or get out of the thread."

I sent an email to the chief GM of the Freedom City PbP board, protesting the GM's behaviour. He didn't respond, until I brought the letter in public. At that time he said that I hadn't handled my complaint in the "right way," so he wasn't going to deal with it. This was obvious sophistry, and rather cowardly, in my estimation. I imagine that the senior GM didn't want to look too closely at the complaints of a relative newcomer (me) against one of his established players & board administrators. There was a clique, an upper echelon that the GM of When It's Time to Party was in, and I wasn't... so my concerns got ignored.

I refused to bow to the GM's ultimatum, and left the thread... and shortly thereafter, Freedom City PbP. I wasn't banned from there, but as far as I know the same people in charge then are still in charge now. Should any of them bother to read this airing of dirty laundry... I probably would be. Which wouldn't bother me.

Having never really felt at home at the condo Randolph had arranged for Pompadour, and having come into full possession of his long awaited law-suit payouts, Pompadour had moved into a posh manor-home on the Lake MacKenzie estates. His old condo had come furnished, so 'moving into' the new place was as simple as ordering furniture, and throwing his few suit-cases from New York into the back of his car. He opted to have an Independence Day-House warming.

Mandy Karlson, and her office people came... Cassie, the eager receptionist, and her new office-boy Nicholas. Trevor "Tank" Hancock and his art associates from The Ink Tank; the androgynous Mickey-Z and the very butch Buick. His lawyer, Gerald Case showed up with his boyfriend. Pompadour also had some newer associates from the music world he'd been working with more and more. Mandy had tracked him down a pair of session musicians he could record and tour with. The two women were chosen for their sex-appeal as much as for their musical talent (which they most certainly had); Tamara Meadows and Chelsea Blackwood. Tamara had brought her boyfriend, and Chelsea was hoping to interview Pompadour for that position. Pompadour's producer also showed up, a surprisingly bland fellow with the moniker Chas Smith.

Pompadour played host, happily showed the guests around his new digs. There was a recording studio in the basement, but not yet operational. Mr. Smith excused himself to mess around with the various decks and mixing boards. He had hired a caterer, and there was far too much food for the dozen or so people that had come. The diverse groups of people were able to mix together quite well, once liberal amounts of alcohol had been applied to the situation.

Later in the evening, Pompadour found himself on the deck sipping scotch with his best friend Tank, while they overtly watched Chelsea skinny-dipping."How's business, Trev?""Pretty damn good, actually. How's super-heroin' treating you?"Pompadour scowled. "That's over with now."Tank nodded. "I sort of thought so. I hadn't heard you do, or say anything about that biz since the party.""Yeah... I don't think that's the right world for me. Someone I talked to there sort of made the point to me that no matter what I do, my origin as a supervillain is always going to follow me.""I didn't hear much about that party. I saw you going in, your red-carpet moment, but almost nothing about you once you got inside."Pompadour considered the agreement that Mandy had worked out with Fletcher Beaumont, and the limited value of rehashing the unpleasantness of the party for his friend, and decided that there just wasn't any point. "I left early. Super Heroes just aren't my kind of people, I guess."The two men returned to sipping their scotch, and watching the lithe, buxom Chelsea flaunt her nudity in the pool.

Later, the guests who were still standing gathered on the balcony to watch the fireworks. Mandy maneuvered in close to chat with Pompadour."So... I was only ever billed once for training with Thunder. When were you planning on getting back to see her?"Pompadour had a pleasant amount of scotch inside him, smiled happily. "Don't need to.""That's odd... I got the impression she felt you could benefit from a lot of training."Pompadour nodded, "Musicians don't need to fight too much. I think I could already take the Gallagher brothers, anyways.""...and superheroes?" Mandy prompted.Pompadour pointed out the first of the fire-blossoms exploding over the bay. "Let's enjoy the fireworks."